Demons and Authority, Epiphany 4 Year B January 29, 2012

+I think I know why people got so angry with that cruise ship captain who abandoned ship after it ran aground. It was a terrible accident—many people died--- while the Captain jumped (or fell) into a lifeboat rowing away from the disaster and toward safety. But the real disappointment in the whole thing, I think, is that the Captain, by virtue of his title and by virtue of the assumptions we associate with that title, is expected to wield a certain amount of authority. We grant him that authority. He was the captain and captains are expected to go down with the ship, and he didn’t.
Using the same logic, had a meek kitchen worker on the boat led the rescue efforts, speaking with calm yet firm authority, he would have been viewed as a hero-- as one behaving above and beyond the scope of his job and of society’s expectations. We don’t expect a meek kitchen worker to do the rescuing, we expect the captain to. The captain’s authority? Expected. The meek kitchen worker? Surprising.
That’s the authority that catches our attention—the surprising kind.
I remember many years ago when I had an odd bug bite on my leg. My doctor said, “hmm, that looks funny.” He then brought out a textbook, looking it over until he found a bite mark that matched. Good for him that he looked up something he wasn’t sure about but… his “hmmm” and checking out the textbook didn’t engender confidence in his authority.
We want our doctors, our lawyers, our teachers, our Bishops, our cruise ship captains, to exude authority, to teach with conviction, to lead without blemish.
When someone, in a time of crisis, calmly takes charge and leads people into safety, we are comforted. Comforted by their  authoritative  teaching, speaking and leading.
By the same token, it’s terrible when someone who is expected to wield authority , doesn’t… like the ship’s captain…. or when someone acts as if they ‘re in control but they really have no idea what to do or how to do it. A weak leader is a dangerous leader. So maybe, in the long run, it was better that the cruise ship captain abandoned ship. If he couldn’t lead he shouldn’t have attempted too.
Jesus was clearly an unexpected leader, a surprising voice of authority. Today we meet Jesus just after he’s called his first disciples, people who willingly left their families, their livelihood. Why? Well, there was something about this guy—Nathanael says it’s because Jesus knew all about him. The others are quieter on the why, they just felt something, were drawn by his authority, compelled by his leadership.
It’s about a 10-minute walk from the shore of the Sea of Galilee up to Capernaum. The synagogue sits on the edge of town, overlooking the sea…. I can picture it: Jesus, walking into the synagogue and without paying any heed to the other people gathered, speaking and teaching with an authority unlike anything those in attendance had heard or seen.
Even though his authority was surprising, it was easily recognized. Folks took notice right away...because people notice genuine authentic authority. It is clear, it is compelling and people respond to it.
So do demons.
The demon in today’s Gospel recognized Jesus right away—it notices how Jesus exhibits a genuine, authentic authority and it immediately begins to try and challenge him—for although the demon recognizes Jesus’ true identity, the demon doesn’t know if Jesus realizes it yet.
Which is precisely why we read this story in Epiphany—the season when we, along with Jesus, learn the full scope of Jesus’ nature.
The demon’s clever: because if Jesus hadn’t realized his divine authority yet, the demon may be able to gain the upper hand, but Jesus didn’t flinch, speaking “harshly to the demon, commanding it to come out of the afflicted man.” The demon, no fool, realizes he has met his match, and departs. The demon recognizes the authority and responds to it by departing, just as the one who was speaking with authority, commanded.
Jesus, with the authority granted to him by God, with the authority exuding in the confidence and firmness of his harsh voice, leads the action, avoiding the attempted hijacking by the demon. Jesus takes charge and with God given authority and his own divine willingness to exercise that authority—he kicked the demon to the curb, making room for the manifestation of his mission—to bring the presence of God into every nook and cranny of the human experience.
 For just as Jesus figuring out his identity and his mission was his Epiphany task, our Epiphany task is to continue that mission, being Jesus’ hands and feet, eyes and ears, here on earth. Our task is to speak the Good News with authority. Our task is to challenge the demons of our own lives with that voice of authority, breaking open space in our lives for the Kingdom of God to flourish. Right here and Right now.
To do this, we need to accept the authority granted to us at our baptism.(“you are sealed by the Holy Spirit in baptism and marked as Christ’s own, forever.” BCP 308).
To do this we must recognize the demons in our lives and speak harshly to them, kicking them to the curb, making room for the Holy Spirit.
What are your demons, where do they hide? Do they recognize your willingness to grasp the mantle of authority or do they recognize your hesitancy to stand up for the mission outlined by Christ and given over to us?
In some ways it would be nice if our demons were as overt and obvious as the one in today’s Gospel. Truth is, most of our demons are quieter, subtler, and more insidious.
They can be difficult to identify and they can be even more difficult to release, to throw out. You see, our demons have a certain pay off for each of us, there are things about our demons which entice and seduce us, making it easier, in the short run, to stick with them instead of kicking them to the curb, allowing space for the Holy Spirit to move in and do her work. For as much as our demons keep us in the old familiar places, the Holy Spirit almost always takes us to places unfamiliar and uncomfortable to us; risky, scary and  strange places.
For it is only in the risky, the scary and the strange that true growth happens.
Look around. Each and everyone of us here this evening has risked a lot to be here---folks from Ascension and Good Shepherd have seen your share of demons: of losses, of changes, of challenges. Trust has been violated, promises broken and hopes dashed. Yet here we all are,  willing to try something all together new, willing to kick those demons to the curb, opening up space for the Holy Spirit to lead us into the risky, scary and strange places of growth and renewal. +

Lamenting and Loving, Epiphany 2, Year B, January 15, 2012

+ Samuel was confused. He could hear a call but he didn’t understand it.
I don’t know if Nathanael was confused, but he was certainly wary. I understand Nathanael’s wariness, his doubt…. for the Messiah wasn’t supposed to come from Nazareth, the Messiah wasn’t supposed to be some disciple of the crazy John the Baptizer. Nathanael heard Philip’s call, but he just couldn’t figure it out: it felt very important but it didn’t make any sense.
Oh how I understand that feeling.
One week ago, right now, I was on the last leg of my Pilgrimage to the Holy Land. After a 6-½ hour layover in Newark, I was getting ready to board the flight to Buffalo. The pilgrimage was ending.
Or maybe it was just beginning.
The Holy Land called me before I arrived, it called me while I was there, and it still calls me.
This trip, this walk through the land of our faith, presented me with a series of calls.
Calls I heard loud and clear, but calls which, much like Nathanael, told me things I didn’t expect, calls which, much like Samuel’s were difficult to hear and at times even more difficult to understand.
I have heard theses calls but like Samuel and Nathanael I’m not sure how to answer.
This pilgrimage was glorious. It was awesome. But it was also disturbing. It was difficult, it was disconcerting.
In the Gospel of Luke, as he gazes over the Old City of Jerusalem, Jesus wept. Crying over the effect of power run amok in the City of his faith, Jesus wept.
And so do I.
The city, a holy place of honor for Jews Xn’s and Muslims alike—all the children of Abraham-- is a mess. Divided East and West, divided into the haves –Israeli Jews who live in West Jerusalem—and the have nots, the forgotten, the denied Palestinian Christians and Muslims who live in East Jerusalem…it’s a powder keg, a place of contradictions and challenges. It’s tense. The historical Jerusalem, within whose walls so much has happened---is crowded, crowded beyond anything you can imagine, dirty, cold, dark and full of people who have, for generations, loathed each other. Jerusalem is tough. And it is also GLORIOUS.
Stunning in the history it presents, stunning in the warmth of the Palestinian merchants, stunning in the sheer magnitude of all that has occurred within her ancient walls.
While I feel called to Jerusalem, I also feel repelled.
Jerusalem represents the very best and the very worst of humanity…so while she called me to wander her old cobblestone streets, called me to walk the way of Jesus, called me to banter and bargain with the merchants, my answer, my response to her call is hard to decipher. At times, my response was joy, other times it was tears. Jerusalem disturbs me, she shakes me, she calls to me. Answering that call is trickier, answering that call is the processing I have begun and will continue for the next several weeks, months and years.
After a week in the city our pilgrimage shifted to the country, the wilderness, the desert of Judea and the rolling hills of Galilee.
A few minutes outside of Jerusalem, heading north, the landscape—both God-made and human made-- changes dramatically. Gone is the barbed wire, the noise, the bustle, the hustle, the lamenting.  The Judean desert is foreboding. It is forbidding.  It is stunning. It is holy.
And it is where I met Omar.
Omar is about six years old. He is a Bedouin, that ancient nomadic people who are no longer able to travel freely shepherding their sheep and setting up camp wherever they wished. Instead they make a meager living selling their wares to pilgrims who find their way to the desert camps the Bedouins now call home.  On that mountaintop deep in the Judean wilderness I was charmed by a child of God, selling bracelets with a sweet call of “American American, bracelet? One dollar!” a boy whose sweet and gentle spirit reminded me that God, brought to us in the person of a boy much like Omar, calls to us in a variety of ways, just waiting for us to hear.
God’s call can come in the dark of night, in the light of day, in the very unpleasant human conflicts millennia in the making and seemingly impossible to solve, and on a mountaintop in the wilderness, where a young child, riding on a donkey, brought the fullness of the Holy Land, the fullness of God’s Love, the fullness of God’s desire for us into focus for me, a weary pilgrim. I am not sure how to reconcile the horrors of apartheid evident throughout the state of Israel with the sweet smile of God’s child Omar, but I do know that within these different images, somewhere deep within the inspiring, disturbing, hopeful and despairing images of The Holy I saw on this pilgrimage, God has called to and continues to call to me, to us.
My journey was one of birth, it was one of death, it was one of resurrection and re-birth. And it was one I took with each and every one of you.

As a small token of my gratitude, as a meager offering of thanks, I offer you these olive wood crosses, hand crafted in Bethlehem the birthplace of Jesus, anointed within the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, the site of Jesus death and Resurerection and now, with water gathered from the River Jordan, where Jesus was baptized and anointed as God’s beloved, blessed.
Let us pray:
Gracious and Loving God, every year we embark on a journey through the life death and resurrection of your son, the One who came to live as one of us, your beloved creation, bless these crosses for the people of this parish. May they be a reminder to us that we are always being called by you and that through the journey of your Son, we are able to hear and respond to the call to Be Your Light in this, the world you have given to our care. Bless the holy land, bless her people, bless her leaders and bless her children. Especially Omar, my friend, my call, my hope. Through Jesus Christ, Your son and our Lord, Amen.

A Sweet and Subversive Christmas

+“Glory to God in the Highest and Peace to God’s People on Earth. Tonight, in the City of David, a savior is born, the messiah, the Prince of Peace.”
Sweet words.
The account of Jesus’ birth is one of the most familiar stories of all time, filled with classic images: angels and the heavenly hosts, that wild star, a young peasant girl and her stalwart betrothed, a barn with sheep, cows, goats, donkeys, straw and that feeding trough—the manger—it’s a sweet tale.
And one of the most subversive, revolutionary and radical stories of all time.
Did Jesus’ birth really go this way? Who knows? . Early Christians didn’t seem to care how or where Jesus was born. ..so writing a birth narrative just didn’t seem necessary. But, for some reason, the story developed late in the first century, over 50 years after Jesus’ death. Is it Fact or Fiction? Well, frankly we don’t know. As Biblical scholar Marcus Borg puts it, it may not have happened this way, but it sure is true.
In other words, the story of Jesus’ birth, while it may or may not be Fact, certainly represents a fundamental Truth of our faith, expressing the absolute foundation of what Christianity is all about: that the oppressed, the outcast, the outliers of society are beloved by God and until they are treated with respect and dignity, our job, as Christians, as people of faith, as the descendants of Mary and Joseph, is not finished. As Martin Luther King, in his Letter from a Birmingham jail said: injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.
Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. This is the legacy of Mary and Joseph, the legacy of the birth we celebrate tonight, the subversive meaning of the Christmas story: everyone, lowly and despised shepherds, mysterious Hindu star gazers from the east, a woman and her betrothed, a simple carpenter from the non-descript village of Nazareth, everyone is beloved, adored and cherished by God.
 We, as followers of Jesus, as believers in the dignity of every human being, must take this sweet story of Jesus birth and live into the subversive message within it.
We are called on this most holy and peaceful of evenings, to be subversive through our own sweetness and concern.
When we are sweet to the outcasts of society—when we care for the rejected, the hated, the despised—we are being subversive. When we reach out a hand of greeting to the mentally ill, the imprisoned, the sick, the different, the unusual then we are, through our sweetness, being subversive. Being radical, being revolutionary.
When we treat creation sweetly, caring for the environment, protecting our natural resources for our grandchildren, we’re being subversive. When we say no to big oil, to pharmaceutical companies, to the users of pesticides, the industrial polluters, the people who refuse to accept any responsibility for tomorrow--- when we say no to them-- then we are, through our concern, being subversive. Being radical. Being revolutionary.
When we stand up to those who bully, when we say no to those who abuse, when we say yes to the children, the elderly, the ill, the lost, the frightened,
 when we expect, when we demand, integrity from our elected officials we are being just what, just who Jesus came to be: a sweet yet determined soul who will not rest until the Kingdom of God on earth is full of grace and truth, full of mercy, justice and peace.
And therein lies the real truth of the Christmas stories, therein lies the reality of our task on this Christmas Eve and all the days to follow: we must stand on the shoulders of Mary and Joseph, the couple who birthed and raised the source of all sweetness and subversion, a revolutionary preacher, a radical rabbi, a man who was from God, who was of God and who has left us, his children, to fulfill his mission. We stand on their shoulders knowing that in the sweetness of Christian charity and hope lies a revolutionary and subversive fact: that all people ALL PEOPLE, are as loved by God as that sweet baby, born in a barn, wrapped in rags, resting in a manger. And that it is our duty, our job, our goal to make sure they—all of them----know it. Glory to God in the Highest and Peace to God’s People on Earth. Tonight, in the City of David, a savior is born, the messiah, the Prince of Peace.
And tonight, in this City of Good Neighbors, in the streets of Los Angeles, in the prairie of Kansas, in the bayou of Louisiana in the streets of Baghdad and the alleys of Kabul, in the neighborhoods of Beijing and in the savannahs of Africa many babies will be born, children who, along with their parents, their siblings, their friends and neighbors, deserve the respect, the hope, the dignity and the justice demanded by, pleaded for and lived into by God in the flesh, Jesus, the Messiah. The Son of God, The Prince of Peace. And our job, as lovers of that babe in a manger, as followers of the radical revolutionary and subversive preacher man from Nazareth is to continue to offer the hope, demand the dignity and strive for the justice given to us this night, wrapped in rags and laying his head on straw.
May your Christmas be sweet and may the revolution, begun in that barn, continue in all of us, the subversive children of God. +

We are wonderful enough to be God's Advent IV

+Nothing is too wonderful to be true.
Nothing is so holy it’s unreachable.
And nothing is as sacred and wondrous to God as we are.
But that fact, that we are wonderful in God’s eyes, can be very difficult for us to believe and to accept. Mary, the Mother of Jesus, the Handmaiden of the Lord, the Favored One can teach us a lot about graceful acceptance of the incomprehensible Love God has for us.
 Mary was the first disciple and she serves as the opening salvo of the incarnation that is the Christmas miracle.
She said yes, she walked with faith, she journeyed in trust and, even though she had nary a clue what was going to happen, she responded to God’s beckoning. She was open to God’s in-breaking into our life, our world, our human condition. That’s what God asks of each of us. And Mary was the first to say, “yes.”
Mary was a young girl who had no remarkable pedigree, no history of exhibiting outrageous faith and who was from an ordinary family.
So, why did God choose her?
Because she was ordinary, and ordinary humans—people like you and me, people like Mary and Joseph---are absolutely adored by God.
This is the true miracle, the true wonder of the story of Jesus’ birth: it happened to regular people.
Regular people were chosen to bear and raise God in the Flesh.
Regular people who responded with amazing, astounding and outlandish grace, but were regular people nonetheless.
I suppose we could say that God knew Mary would say yes.
I suppose we could say that God knew Joseph wouldn’t throw Mary to the curb when he found out about the pregnancy.
I suppose we could say that God had this whole thing planned out, like some type of masterful puppeteer, but there’s no evidence to suggest this to be true.
Rather there is a preponderance of evidence to suggest that God approaches us and asks us---all the time---to be the bearers of God’s wondrous light to the entire world and that, those of us who say “yes” are in for the ride of our lives.
Noah, Abraham and Sarah, Moses, Aaron and Miriam, David and Nathan, Ruth and Naomi---these are not people of extraordinary moral character or tremendous faith when God reaches out to them. As a matter of fact, most of them tried their darndest to, at best, ignore and, at worst, reject God’s overtures. But, regardless of their hesitancy, each and every one of them ended up being servants of God, bearers of Good News, prophetic witnesses to the inching forward of creation toward the perfection and unity of all things longed for by God, promised by the prophets and realized, in part, by the First Advent….to be realized, in full, on the occasion of the Second.
God doesn’t choose us for who we are at our worst moments, God chooses us for who we can be.  And God knows that we all---all of us---can be something amazing. Something wonderful. Something prophetic. Because God knows we are—each and every one of us—someONE amazing, someONE wonderful, SomeONE prophetic.
We just need to find our voice, our faith, our trust.
And then we need to
use our voice,
exercise our faith
and exert our trust.
We can learn how to do this, by considering Mary.
Mary asks Gabriel, “How Can this Be?”
Gabriel replies, it can be because you, like all of humanity, is favored by, loved by and longed for by God. And nothing—“NOTHING is impossible with God.”
Mary, HEARING that nothing is impossible with God, BELIEVING that nothing is impossible with God, TRUSTING that nothing is impossible with God simply responds with:
“Here I am Lord. Let it Be according to Your Word.”
She didn’t do a cost benefit analysis. She didn’t consult her business manager or her therapist or her life coach.
She simply said, Here I am Lord. Your servant. Let it Be.
Mary wasn’t some sacred prophet of old, re-birthed to do God’s work in the world; she was an ordinary young girl presented with a wonderful gift: God’s favor.
Mary wasn’t any holier than you and me. But, perhaps because of her age, perhaps because she was from a small country town, perhaps because she was so in awe of having an angel visit, or maybe just because she was receptive to wonder, Mary stepped aside and let the Love of God take her over, making her an extraordinary instrument of God.
Although Mary wasn’t any holier than you and me,  she sure was brave.
Not because she had a child before marriage. Not because she stood by Jesus all the days of his life, not even because she said yes. No Mary was brave because she trusted. She had faith and she truly believed that NOTHING was too wonderful, too outrageous, too incomprehensible to be true… even the fact that God can and that God does love each and every one of us enough to name us God’s Favored One.
We’re regular folks who’ve been graced with God’s Favor.
And my Advent wish for each and every one of us is that we accept this favor and learn, by taking baby steps, to trust this Favor and to live into it through Faith, accepting that the Love of God isn’t too wonderful to be True, but it is too wonderful to be ignored.
 It’s too wonderful to be tossed aside.
It’s too wonderful to be denied.
Mary’s soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord. Her spirit rejoices in God her Savior and her wonder is sacred, her trust holy and her example for us?
Priceless.
Nothing is too wonderful to be true, and nothing is too holy to be unreachable and nothing---nobody---is beyond God’s loving embrace.
For we are wonderful enough to be God’s.
Amen.+

Advent 3 Mission Possible

+Remember the old television program, Mission: Impossible? At the beginning of the show, that week’s mission would be outlined for the agents by a disembodied voice coming from a reel to reel tape recorder. Before the closing words, “This tape will self-destruct in 5 secondsl” came the equally iconic phrase: “Your mission, if you choose to accept it is:” In Advent, our mission, if we choose to accept it, is to let the seeds of hope promised by the prophets of the Hebrew Scriptures, pronounced by John the Baptist and incarnated in the person of Jesus Christ to germinate within us, growing to great heights.
You see as we wind into the last two weeks of Advent, it’s time for us to wake up and see the light. It’s time for us to accept our mission: preparing the soil of our souls, allowing the  seed of God’s word to take hold within us putting down deep and strong roots of faith.
Last Saturday, Bishop Bill held an Advent retreat for all the priests of the diocese. Our morning speaker was the Bishop of Rochester, Prince Singh. Bishop Singh made an excellent presentation and one of his statements has stayed with me all week.

He said:
“Advent is a time when we remember and celebrate the first Advent, the incarnation of Christ through Jesus’ birth. Advent is also a time when we anticipate Christ’s second coming, the second Advent, if you will, when Christ comes in glory to unite this world and the next in apocalyptic drama.”
Bishop Singh then said, and this is what has stuck with me all week: “well, that covers the past and the future, but what about now? What does Advent have to tell us about the present time?
Where can we find the Christ in today?”
The answer, of course, is right here. Christ is in the world today through us. We are the Body of Christ. In the present, in the today, in the here and now. We’re it.
And while we’ve spent a lot of time this Advent talking about preparing ourselves for the in-breaking of God-in-the-flesh right here on earth, I’m not sure we’re all aware of just what that means. God’s breaking into the here and now goes much more smoothly, if we welcome God’s presence in our lives.  If we are open to God’s desire to dwell within, between and through us. It means receiving this incredible gift. Accepting it, ingesting it, embodying it. Being it. Growing it.
To be the Body of Christ in the present day means we must welcome, as John tells us in today’s Gospel, the Light of the world, into us. We must be a vessel for that light, letting it fill us-- growing, gaining more power, more luminance, more wattage.   All we need to do is notice the light. Accept it. Receive it. For once we accept The Light, we are giving God the room to do God’s work within us.
Light is a big deal this time of year. As the author O.E. Rolwaag puts it in his classic novel of prairie life, Giants in the Earth: A Saga of the Prairie “[the winter days are] bleak and gloomy, with cold that congeal[s] all life. ” As frontal systems stall along the banks of the Great Lakes, the dark can really get to us. We can go days without seeing the sun. Vitamin D deficiency is a significant medical issue around these parts!
I think all the Christmas lights people put up is a subconscious response to the enveloping darkness of winter. I’m not sure how dark it gets in the Holy Land—I’ll report back after my trip---but my guess is that the dark was a scary thing in the time of Jesus. No electricity, no battery operated lanterns, no flashlight apps on smart-phones…when the sun had set and the clouds obscured the stars and the moon, it must have been pretty darn dark.
So referring to the coming of the Messiah as the coming of the light makes sense, for the light brings security and comfort. In the light of day things generally look more hopeful, we feel more capable, less vulnerable, less alone. Light brings Hope. Security. Comfort.
Simply put, Light feels good. Jesus as the Light of the World, feels good too. So what’s the problem?
Us. You see we have a part to play in God’s presence in the world—in the current Advent---but, we have a tendency to complicate everything. Our part, our mission, if we choose to accept it is to receive the light, welcome it within us, as best we can, and then step back and let God, let the Holy Spirit do the rest.
One commentator puts it like this:
“It is crucial for our salvation that we know what is the work of God, and what is our work… that we don’t get these two things mixed up – expecting God to do what we must do, or, trying to do what God must do.
One key distinction between what is our work, and what is God’s work is that it’s our work to prepare for God’s presence, to be open to God, to trust God, to receive God’s presence, to respond to God’s blessing, and to accept the mission that God gives; but it is God’s work to provide both the seed and the fruitfulness.
Advent is a time for us to prepare the soil. God provides the seed and Jesus Christ--the light of the world—comes to nurture that seed into a hearty, flourishing plant of faith growing and blooming within us.
This mission—spreading the Good News of Christ throughout the world-- may seem like a huge goal, a difficult task, a mission impossible, but we don’t do this alone. We don’t have to worry about the seed or the fruit. We don’t have to worry about how the plant will fare—we don’t even have to worry about the harvest. We just need to prepare the soil---our very selves—to receive the seed and then simply to turn toward the light. For this mission, the mission of being the Body of Christ in the Here and Now is, with God’s help, definitely a Mission Possible. +

Comfort O Comfort Not Soothe O Soothe Advent 2 2011

+I like to be comfortable. After a cold walk with the dogs, I love nothing more than to change into flannel pants and a cozy sweatshirt.
We talk about comfort all the time---when someone seems really self assured and calm we say, “They’re so comfortable in their own skin.” Or when we eat a big old pot roast, or make a nice steaming stew, we say we’re indulging in comfort food.
With the wonderful phrase, “ Comfort, O Comfort my People, the prophet Isaiah is expressing a common refrain---we like to be comfortable…we long to be comfortable.
The Israelites whom Isaiah is addressing have just returned from exile; returning to a land their parents and grandparents had been forced to leave behind. A land the current generation had never lived in. For them, “home” was simply a fantasy, a place where problems never existed, where, if they could just get back, everything would be fine. But the fact is, back home, everything wasn’t ok…they had idealized the thought of “home”, they put a return to Judah on a pedestal.
I know the feeling. I bet you do too. How many of us have said, “everything will be ok, just as soon as I make a little more money, or just as soon as the kids get a bit older, or as soon as my parent’s health problems stabilize, or as soon as my boss gives me a break.”
The Israelites thought, “everything will be ok, once we get home.”
But Isaiah is saying that, while returning home was certainly soothing, it couldn’t provide the comfort they –we all—long for…because:
Only God can do that. There is one and only one source of comfort: God. We can only be comfortable once we allow ourselves to rest in the arms of God, for that is where the essence of comfort resides.
We mistake all sorts of things for comfort. Often, what we think comforting is, actually, soothing.
And soothing is qualitatively different than comforting.
To soothe is to alleviate, placate, relieve.
To comfort is to give strength and hope.
Soothing is temporary. Comfort is forever.
Now, there’s nothing wrong with being soothed---there’s an awful lot of discomfort in our daily lives which is alleviated through soothing….and, even though when the soothing ends the discomfort returns, that little respite  gives us the energy to fight through the annoyances, disappointments and worries of daily life.
But sometimes really bad things happen to us: Death, illness, abuse, heartbreak and hopelessness. Things that make us feel fragile, vulnerable, at risk. When that happens, we don’t need soothing, we need, we crave, we long for, comfort.
When I was first diagnosed with cancer, I found great comfort in people who responded to the news with cursing, laments and tears. I found their reaction very honest and true. What really drove me nuts were those people who said, “oh you’ll be fine.”
I know these people were just trying to soothe me…to give me a little relief…but I didn’t want to be soothed, I didn’t want to be distracted. I couldn’t be distracted. Because-- and those of you who have dealt with deep hurt, fear and heartache know what I mean--when experiencing such gut wrenching, life changing events, nothing distracts you.  You never forget what you’re going through. You can’t. Soothing may distract, but it does not comfort. And comfort is what I longed for. Comfort was what I found when I lamented, when I cried, when I cursed. Because when I fell apart, I realized I was letting go of all my control, I was letting go and I was, to steal a phrase from AA, Letting God.
A United Church of Canada minister, David Ewart says that
“[Isaiah] speaks words of comfort NOT because PEOPLE are resilient, strong, courageous, resourceful, hard-working, dedicated, etc. Indeed, Isaiah reminds us of an inescapable reality – people are like flowers and grass that wither and fade. And so too our resilience, strength, courage, resourcefulness, hard work, dedication, etc. also wither and fade with us. ..[Isaiah maintains that only one thing truly comforts us, because] only one thing never withers or fades – the word of God. ” Isaiah realized that only by letting go of the “what ifs” and the “if onlys,” the “whens” and the “one days,” do we let God’s comfort wrap around us.
God’s comfort is the one thing that doesn’t wither and fade.
 As our life unfolds, things happen: our path gets crooked, our valleys become deeper, the mountains of despair grow ever higher and our spirit suffers. Soothing may take our mind off of the bumpy road, the deep valleys and the treacherous mountains of life, but when the soothing ends—and soothing always ends—we are left with the crooked, the deep and the tall troubles of life. But when we focus on comfort, when we diligently and deliberately seek comfort in our lives, the road is straightened, the valley is raised, the mountains are lowered and our spirit is buoyed.
Perhaps we all need to do a comfort inventory.
Are we ready for Comfort? Really Ready?
Because…
to get to Comfort, we have to go through lament.
to get to Comfort we have to go through the wilderness.
to get to Comfort we have to shed all the things we use to soothe us.
to get to Comfort we need to become vulnerable.
And to be vulnerable we must trust…we must trust that the Great Comforter is waiting for us, hoping for us, anxious for us to let go and to trust
--just as John the Baptist did.
--just as Mary and Joseph did.
And, just like Jesus did.
Because we, to really feel the Comfort of God, must trust all the way to the cross, the tomb and beyond.
Advent is a time to prepare for the coming of the Great Comforter, to ready ourselves for accepting the presence of God in our very lives and into our very beings. It’s a time when we accept that life is not always easy, and that fixes are not always quick. It’s a time when we accept that soothing, while less risky to pursue will, in time, wither and fade. It’s a time when we, each and every one of us, must prepare our vulnerable selves to accept the greatest gift God has to offer: a baby, wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger. +

Do you see me now? Pentecost Last 2011

Can you hear me now? This phrase was made famous by a cell phone company several years ago; it really took off and is part of our vocabulary.
In today’s Gospel Jesus asks a similar question: Do you see me now? Do you notice me now?
They asked: “Lord, when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?
When was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food or thirsty and gave you something to drink? “
Jesus responds, “Truly I tell you just as you did it to one of the least of these, who are members of my family, you did it to me.”
Each time you saw them, you saw me.
Each time you noticed them, you noticed me.
Each time you helped them, you loved me.
Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison and did not take care of you?
Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.
You don’t see me now, do you? You don’t notice me here, do you?
What we do unto others, we do unto our Savior.
What we do unto others, we do unto God.
In our Baptismal Covenant we promise to seek and serve Christ in all whom we encounter. Seeking and serving Christ requires looking, seeing and noticing.

Do you see God now? Do you notice Jesus there? Right there…. you know, the guy walking down the street, ranting to himself.
The very unpleasant woman on the other end of the customer service phone
The child you have nurtured who has turned her back on you.
The spouse you loved and cherished who has left you.
The angry, spiteful neighbor….
God is there, Jesus is there. Do you see God in them, do we notice Jesus standing among them?
How we treat others is how we treat God.
On this Christ the King Sunday, the last Sunday of our church year, we look at what has been and what will be—we reflect on the life of Jesus on earth, we remember his death and resurrection as we await his coming again---we’re reminded that we’re graded, we’re evaluated, we’re judged by how much we saw, how often we noticed, God in the other.
Because each and every time we notice another person--really notice them… really look in their eyes, really listen to what they have to say…every time we do that we  make more room for God, through Christ, in this world.
And each and every time we forget, we ignore another person, every time we fail to hear what they say, we are closing ourselves, and the world around us, to God’s never ending effort to break through and into our everything.
The Apocalypse—the end of time---is a time when the barriers between this world and the next will be broken down, when the nations of this world fall away and we unite—all of us---under our one true King, our true Ruler, God as presented to us through Jesus Christ.
And every single time we notice God in another, each time we really see Jesus, seeking and serving him in all whom we encounter, we are bringing that time ever closer.
The apocalypse, contrary to what our readings seem to suggest is not an event. It is a process. The end of time is simply the end of time as we know it and the beginning of time as it has always been.  The Coming of the Day of the Lord. The end of life as we know it and the beginning of life eternal, doesn’t happen in one fell swoop, it happens over time, with each and everyone of us doing our part.
To bring about the unification of this world and the next , to bring about the day of the Lord, the Return of Christ on Earth, we must break open room for The Christ to dwell. We must break away from all that ensnares us. We must free ourselves from all that scares us, we must loosen the grips of doubt and reach out and up ready to receive our King. Our Lord. Our Beloved God.
Each and every time we live our life as God intended, each and every time we mimic Jesus in our actions, we bring that day ever closer.
Our job is not to simply live a decent life, biding our time until we get to heaven. Our job is to break down the distinctions between this world and the next, to break down the barriers which keep us overly concerned with our individual well being instead of our corporate well-being.
As Barbara Brown Taylor puts it: We are called to look at each other and see Christ. It’s as simple, and as hard, as that.” To accomplish this seemingly simple yet still so very difficult task requires Grace.
When we see God in the other, when we notice Jesus in the eyes of that other person, it’s because of Grace. The God-given ability to see beyond ourselves, our own wants needs and fears and look at the bigger picture—that ability is a gift from God, it is a gift of God…and when we receive and open that gift—when we release that grace…it spreads. From me to you and from you to another and on and on and on.
It’s that chain reaction of grace, that domino effect of noticing God in each other, of seeking and serving Christ in all whom we encounter, which allows the in-breaking of God’s Kingdom. The more we break ourselves open to Love, the more the source of that Love, God, is given room to move about here on earth.
Jesus Christ as our King seems like an a odd title for this itinerant preacher who spoke of the sanctity of the poor, the sick, the outcast, the rejected…..But Christ as the King of a world where the Divine is noticed in all, where the Holy is respected by all and where the Love of God is the rule and not the exception—that is a world where Christ, as King, makes sense.
Can you hear me now?
Can you see me now?
Do you notice me now?
Yes God, we do.
Thanks be to God. +